The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair: A Novel

by Joël Dicker

  As she said these words, she began to dance. She danced in the hallway; she danced into the living room; she danced on the deck. Wiping away the dew on the deck table, she covered it with a tablecloth and set up his work space, arranging his pens, his notebooks, his pages, and some carefully chosen beach rocks for paperweights. Then she brought him coffee, waffles, and fruit, and she put a cushion on his chair. She made sure everything was perfect so that he could work under the best possible conditions. Once he was seated at the table, she turned her attention to the house. She cleaned up, and made lunch; she took care of everything so that all he had to do was concentrate on his writing. As he wrote pages by hand, she read them, made a few corrections, and then typed them up on her Remington, like the most passionate, devoted secretary imaginable. Only when she had accomplished all of her tasks did she allow herself to sit close to Harry—although not too close, in order not to disturb him—and to watch him write. She was the writer’s wife.

  That day she left just after lunch. As always she left him with a set of instructions: “I’ve made sandwiches for you. They’re in the kitchen. And there’s iced tea in the fridge. You must eat properly—and take a rest. Otherwise you’ll get a headache. And you know what happens when you work too hard, Harry: You get those migraines that make you so cranky.”

  She hugged him.

  “Are you coming back later?” Harry asked.

  “No, I’m busy.”

  “Busy doing what? Why are you leaving so early?”

  “Just busy. Women must remain mysterious. I read that in a magazine.”

  He smiled.

  “Nola . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. If it weren’t for you, I would never have been able to write this book.”

  “That’s what I want to do with my life: take care of you, be there for you, help you with your books . . . have a family with you. Think how happy we’ll be! How many children do you want?”

  “At least three!”

  “Yes! How about four? Two boys and two girls, so there won’t be too many arguments. I want to be Mrs. Nola Quebert! Prouder of her husband than any other woman in the world!”

  She left and walked up the driveway toward Shore Road. As before, she did not notice the figure crouched in the undergrowth.

  It took her an hour to reach Somerset on foot. She made this trip twice a day. When she got to town, she took the main street and continued until she reached the park, where, as arranged, Nancy Hattaway was waiting for her.

  “Why here instead of the beach?” Nancy complained when she saw Nola. “It’s so hot!”

  “I’m meeting someone this afternoon . . .”

  “What? Don’t tell me you’re seeing Stern again!”

  “Don’t say his name!”

  “You’re using me as an alibi again?”

  “Please cover for me! I’m begging you!”

  “I cover for you all the time!”

  “Just once more. Please.”

  “Don’t go!” Nancy pleaded. “You have to stop seeing this guy! I’m scared for you. What do you do together? Are you having sex with him?”

  Nola’s expression was gentle and soothing. “Don’t worry, Nancy. Please don’t worry. You’ll cover for me, won’t you? Please say you’ll cover for me: You know what happens if I’m caught lying. You know what happens to me at home . . .”

  Nancy heaved a sigh of resignation. “All right. I’ll stay here until you come back. But no later than six-thirty or my mother will give me hell.”

  “Of course. And if anyone asks, what did we do?”

  “We spent the whole afternoon here, talking,” Nancy repeated like a puppet. “But I’m sick of lying for you! Why do you do this?”

  “Because I love him! I love him so much! I would do anything for him!”

  “Ugh—I think it’s disgusting. I don’t even want to think about it.”

  A blue Mustang came down one of the streets bordering the park and stopped at the curb. “Time for me to go,” Nola said. “See you later, Nancy. Thank you—you’re a true friend.”

  She walked quickly toward the car and scrambled inside. “Hello, Luther,” she said to the chauffeur, and the car disappeared, without anyone—apart from Nancy—having noticed anything strange.

  An hour later the Mustang arrived in the courtyard of Elijah Stern’s manor. Luther led the young girl inside. She knew the way to the room.

  “Get undreffed,” Luther told her gently. “I’m going to tell Mifter Ftern vat you have arrived.”

  August 12, 1975

  As on every morning since the trip to Martha’s Vineyard, when he had rediscovered his inspiration, Harry got up at dawn and went running before starting work.

  As on every morning, he ran as far as Somerset. And as on every morning, he stopped at the marina to do push-ups. It was not yet six o’clock. The town was sleeping. He had avoided going by Clark’s. It was opening time there, and he did not want to risk seeing Jenny. She was a great girl; she did not deserve to be treated like this. He spent a moment contemplating the ocean, which shone with all the improbable colors of the sunrise.

  When she spoke his name, he jumped.

  “Harry? So it’s true? You really do wake up this early to go running?”

  He turned around. It was Jenny, wearing her Clark’s uniform. She moved closer and clumsily attempted to embrace him.

  “I just like watching the sunrise,” he said.

  She smiled. If he was coming all this way, she thought, it must mean he did love her a little bit.

  “Would you like to come to Clark’s for coffee?” she asked.

  “Thanks. But I don’t want to break my rhythm.”

  She tried to conceal her disappointment.

  “Let’s at least sit together for a minute.”

  “I don’t want to stop for long.”

  She frowned. “But I haven’t heard from you recently. You don’t come to Clark’s anymore.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with my book.”

  “There’s more to life than books, you know. Come see me now and then. I’d like that. Mom won’t yell at you, I promise. She shouldn’t have made you pay your tab all at once.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “I should go and start my shift—we open at six. Are you sure you don’t want some coffee?”

  “I’m sure. Thanks.”

  “Maybe you could come over later?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “If you come here every morning, I could wait for you at the marina . . . I mean, if you don’t mind. Just to say hi.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “All right. Anyway, I’ll be working until three this afternoon. If you want to come over to write . . . I won’t disturb you, I promise. I hope you’re not mad that I went to the gala with Travis. I don’t love him, you know. He’s just a friend. I . . . there’s something I wanted to tell you, Harry. I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before.”

  “Don’t say that, Jenny . . .”

  The town hall bell rang six times; she was late. She kissed him on the cheek and ran. She should not have told him that she loved him; she regretted it already. She was such a fool. Heading up the street toward Clark’s, she turned around to wave, but he had gone. If he comes to Clark’s, she thought, that means he loves me a little bit, that all is not lost. She hurried on, but just before she reached the top of the hill, a large, malformed shadow appeared from behind a fence. In her surprise, Jenny couldn’t help crying out. Then she recognized Luther.

  “Luther! You scared me!”

  A streetlamp illuminated the twisted face and powerful body.

  “What dove . . . What dove he want from you?�
��

  “Nothing, Luther.”

  He grabbed her arm and held it tightly.

  “Doe . . . doe . . . doe . . . don’t make fun of me! What dove he want from you?”

  “He’s a friend. Leave me alone now, Luther! You’re hurting me! Leave me alone or I’ll tell!”

  He loosened his grip and said, “Have you thought about my propoval?”

  “The answer is no, Luther. I don’t want you to paint me. Now let me past! Or I’ll say you’ve been hanging around, and you’ll get in trouble.”

  As soon as she threatened this, Luther disappeared, running into the dawn like a frightened animal. Beginning to cry, she hurried to the restaurant. Before entering, she quickly wiped her eyes so that her mother would not notice her tears.

  • • •

  Harry was running again, crossing the town from one end to the other in order to reach Shore Road and follow it back to Goose Cove. He was thinking about Jenny. He must not give her false hope. He felt so bad for her. When he reached the crossroads, his legs gave way; his muscles had gone cold during his stop at the marina. He could feel himself cramping up, and he was alone by the side of an empty road. He regretted having gone to Somerset. He did not see how he would be able to run back to Goose Cove. At that moment a blue Mustang pulled up next to him. The driver lowered the window, and Harry recognized Luther Caleb.

  “Need fum help?”

  “I overdid it . . . I think I’ve pulled something.”

  “Get in. I’ll take you to your houfe.”

  “Lucky you happened by,” Harry said, getting into the passenger seat. “What are you doing in Somerset so early?”

  Caleb did not reply; they rode to Goose Cove without either of them saying another word. Having dropped Harry at home, Luther went back up the driveway, but instead of heading to Concord, he took a left turn, back toward Somerset, and parked in a little dead end in the forest. He left his car in the shade of pine trees and then deftly made his way through other trees and crouched in the undergrowth close to the house. It was 6:15 a.m. He leaned against a tree trunk and waited.

  At about nine o’clock, Nola arrived at Goose Cove to take care of her beloved.

  August 13, 1975

  “You see, Dr. Ashcroft, I always do that, and afterward I feel angry with myself.”

  “How does it happen?”

  “I don’t know. It’s as if it comes out of me against my will. It’s like an urge, but it makes me miserable. Oh, it makes me so miserable! But I can’t stop myself.”

  Dr. Ashcroft looked closely at Tamara Quinn for a moment, then asked her, “Are you capable of telling people how you feel about them?”

  “I . . . No. I never tell them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course!”

  “How would they know if you never tell them?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, Doctor.”

  “Does your family know you’re coming to see me?”

  “No. No! I . . . This is none of their business.”

  He nodded. “I think, Mrs. Quinn, that you ought to try writing down what you feel. Writing things down can be soothing.”

  “I do. I record it all. Ever since I started coming here, I’ve been keeping a notebook that I always keep safe.”

  “And does that help?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, a little. I think.”

  “We’ll talk again next week. It’s time for my next patient.”

  August 14, 1975

  It was around 11 a.m. Nola had been sitting on the deck at Goose Cove since early that morning, assiduously typing up handwritten drafts on the Remington, while across from her Harry was busy writing. “It’s good!” Nola said excitedly as she read his words. “It’s really good!” Harry smiled in response. He was filled with inspiration.

  It was hot. Nola, noticing that Harry’s glass was empty, left the deck for a moment to make iced tea in the kitchen. She had barely gone inside when a visitor appeared on the deck: Elijah Stern.

  “Harry, you’re working too hard!” Stern roared. Harry was startled, and then immediately overcome by panic: no one could see Nola here.

  “Elijah Stern!” Harry said loudly so that Nola would hear him and stay inside.

  “Harry Quebert!” Stern repeated, having no idea why Harry was shouting. “I rang the doorbell, but no one answered. But I saw your car, and I thought maybe you were out on the deck, so I decided I’d take a look.”

  “And I’m very glad you did!” Harry shouted at the top of his voice.

  Stern noticed the rough drafts, then the Remington at the other side of the table. “You write and type at the same time?” he asked.

  “Yes. I . . . I write several pages simultaneously.”

  Stern collapsed into a chair. He was covered in sweat.

  “Several pages at the same time? You must be a genius, Harry. So I was in the area, and I thought I’d stop by Somerset. What a beautiful town. I left my car on the main street and went for a walk. And ended up walking here. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  “This house, Elijah . . . it’s wonderful. Such a glorious setting.”

  “I’m so happy you were able to stay on.”

  “Thank you for your generosity. I owe you everything.”

  “Please don’t thank me. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “One day I’ll have money, and maybe I can buy this house.”

  “That would be great, Harry. I couldn’t wish anything more for you. I would be glad to see the house come back to life. But if you’ll excuse my rudeness, I’m sweating like a pig and dying of thirst here.”

  Harry glanced nervously toward the kitchen. He had to find a way to get rid of Stern.

  “Unfortunately I have nothing here to offer you, other than water . . .”

  Stern laughed. “That’s all right—no need to feel guilty. I had a feeling you might not have anything to eat or drink here. In fact, that’s exactly what worries me—it’s good to write, but you have to make sure you don’t waste away! You should get married, so you have someone to look after you. But I’ll tell you what—give me a ride into town, and I’ll take you out to lunch. That’ll give us the chance to talk. Only if you’d like to, of course.”

  “I’d love to,” said Harry, with relief. “Let me find my car keys.”

  He walked into the house. Passing the kitchen, he found Nola hiding under the table. She gave him a beautiful smile of complicity, her finger to her lips. He smiled back and joined Stern outside.

  They took the Chevrolet and drove to Clark’s, where they sat outside and ordered eggs, toast, and pancakes. Jenny’s eyes shone when she saw Harry. It had been so long since he’d been to the restaurant.

  “It’s funny,” Stern said. “I really did intend to go for just a short walk, and before I knew it I found myself at Goose Cove. It was as if the landscape lured me there.”

  “The coast between Somerset and Goose Cove is incredibly beautiful,” Harry said. “I can’t get enough of it.”

  “Do you often go that way?”

  “Nearly every morning. I run. It’s a great way to start the day. I get up at dawn and run as the sun rises. It’s an amazing feeling.”

  “Sounds like you’re a real athlete. I wish I had your discipline.”

  “An athlete? I’m not so sure about that. The day before yesterday, for instance, as I was coming back to Goose Cove, my legs cramped up. I couldn’t even walk. Fortunately your chauffeur saw me and very kindly took me to the house.”

  Stern smiled tensely. “Luther was here the day before yesterday?” he asked.

  Their conversation was interrupted by Jenny, who brought them coffee and then moved away.

  “Yes,” Harry replied. “I was quite surprise
d myself, actually, to see him in Somerset so early in the morning. Does he live near here?”

  Stern seemed embarrassed.

  “No, he lives on my property. I have an outbuilding for my staff. But he likes this area. It must be said that Somerset is beautiful at dawn.”

  “Didn’t you say he was going to check on the rosebushes at Goose Cove? Because I’ve never seen him.”

  “But the plants are thriving, aren’t they? So he must have stopped by.”

  “Still, I’m at the house most of the time—all the time, practically.”

  “Luther is a very discreet person.”

  “I was wondering: What happened to him? The way he speaks is so strange.”

  “He had an accident. A long time ago. He can appear a little frightening sometimes, but inside he’s a wonderful man.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Jenny came back to top off our coffee cups, which were still full. She rearranged the napkin holder, refilled the salt shaker, and changed the bottle of ketchup. She smiled at Stern and nodded at Harry before disappearing inside.

  “How’s your book going?” Stern said.

  “It’s going very well. Thank you once again for letting me have the house. I feel very inspired.”

  “You’re probably inspired by that girl, more than anything,” Stern said with a smile.

  “I beg your pardon?” Harry said, choking.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. There’s nothing wrong with it. Jenny, the waitress—you’re screwing her, aren’t you? Because the way she’s been acting since we arrived, she’s certainly being screwed by one of us. And I know it’s not me. So my assumption is that it must be you. Ha-ha—I don’t blame you! She’s a good-looking girl.”

  Relieved, Harry forced a laugh.

  “Jenny and I are not together,” he said. “Let’s just say we flirted for a while. She’s a nice girl, but—between you and me—I find her a little dull. I would like to find someone I’m really in love with, someone special. Someone different . . .”

  “Well, don’t worry about that. You’ll find that rare pearl eventually—the girl who’ll make you happy.”